


i've been living like a midnight cowboy, showing it off to the cruiser's eyes

by spaace



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Road Trips, Slow Build, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25740145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaace/pseuds/spaace
Summary: "life is like an ocean. it can be calm or still and rough or rigid. but in the end, it’s always beautiful." or, richie and beverly take a roadtrip to california, and richie meets someone special
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 39





	i've been living like a midnight cowboy, showing it off to the cruiser's eyes

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to @peachywasteland for beta reading! come say hi to me on tumblr @denbroughbill ! :)

they see their first palm tree the same minute they hit los angeles traffic. beverly's in the passenger seat; been in the passenger seat for almost three days, and shared motel beds, and diner booths, she's been there every step of the way. she's drowning in a shirt too big; one of those bathing suit cover ups with the cartoon bikini bodies, ready to strip as soon as they hit the santa monica pier. she's sinking her teeth into a nectarine, one that hasn't yet rotten out of the many fruits they bought from a small, roadside market along the way. cherries, peaches, and raspberries all stained riche's "i heart looking like a tourist" tank, so he's been driving shirtless since las vegas. he's wearing a black cowboy hat with silver stars from their impromptu trip to texas, and pants in his car, just like shirts, are optional, but he's still wearing black jeans because they're stuck to his thighs by sweat.

the fact they were twenty-three and realizing neither of them had ever traveled outside of derry, besides for their grandmother's house, was their big, green, flashing light to ready, set, go, and they packed their bags the same night. richie said "hasta la vista," to his long time best friend and short-time roommate, bill, the next morning, and picked beverly up shortly after, pulling up just as she landed a big ole kiss on her boyfriend, ben. all the cheap coffee from roadside motels and diners they've been drinking has seeped it's way into the car seats, along with cigarette smoke, but all they smell is fresh air and sea salt as richie drives to beverly's desired destination.

the heat's rising off the boardwalk in shimmering waves. richie's already sunburnt shoulders are stinging, baking in the sun, but there are cool gusts of wind coming from the ocean. beverly glides by in her roller skates, snatching the hat off of richie's head, and claiming it as her own, then she's gone. he watches as she twirls and moonwalks and balances on one foot until ben facetimes her, the forgotten phone on the empty seat next to him. richie manages to prop it against a napkin dispenser, then there's a live video of him eating the best apple pie he's ever had.

"you guys get there okay? everything good over there? where's bev?" richie can hear tourists and chatter.

and he yells back, "skating." there'd be nothing but a grainy video with windy audio if he tries to flip the camera around, but it's a sight to see; beverly, as happy as can be, gliding through crowds and families elegantly, a giant ferris wheel in the background. richie could sit here forever.

ben wishes them a good time, and richie says he loves him too before the live video has ended. richie thinks it's sweet, and even though it's beverly's boyfriend, and not his, it makes him feel as though derry isn't so far away. richie called his parents once inside a phonebooth outside a little diner on the side of the road on the way here, just for the hell of it, it made a good polaroid. he gave them a quick "i love you," before jumping back inside the car when he caught beverly trying to take a bite of his burger. bill's been asking for souvenir pens from each state for his collection, so he decided to start the moment they left.

beverly glides back around and before dragging him near the end of the pier, they ask a bystander to snap their picture by the route 66: end of the trail sign; two pictures, each wearing the cowboy hat. the tourist shop at the end of the pier mostly carries fishing gear and tacky souvenirs, nothing they haven't seen already.

there's an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and pride as he watches the ocean and their crashing waves. such a strong feeling he feels it beaming off of beverly, too. there are seagulls screeching, and beverly's sweeping the damp hair away from the back of richie's sunburnt neck, but he doesn't acknowledge it. the ocean was wide and vast, like their opportunities and time in california.

they're three thousand miles from derry, maine, a town they've been itching to escape their whole lives. that feeling is setting in, too, but it's bittersweet. the sky is way clearer here, and richie wants to toss all his fears, and yell "fuck you, derry, maine!" across the waves like skipping stones and watch it sink. bill and ben should be here, too, throwing hurtful words like skipping stones. they should be enjoying this. if they weren't both studying for finals, they'd be here. what are these two going to do by themselves, so far away, never leaving the state before? they've made it this far, though. beverly squeezes richie's hand that's resting on the pier, and says, "thanks for inviting me, richie."

he looks over and isn't too sure if there's sand and wind in her eyes, or if she's crying happy tears. fly aways from her flaming red hair are caught in her glittery lip gloss, but she didn't brush them away. maybe she's just as nervous as he is, now. this wasn't supposed to be some soul searching trip, but it feels as though they're lost in the sea they're staring at, or finally seeing it for the first time. a smile starts to spread across his face, something wide and forceful that stretches up to his ears. he could grab beverly and chunk her over his shoulder and spin around and yell that they've made it! but he says, "thanks for coming, beverly," and it sounds a lot like, "i love you". they'll figure it out together.

♡

after a picture perfect moment and crossing ten states, the inevitable happens- a flat tire. they're so close to their airbnb, they can tell because there are houses painted in pastel colors, and crowds walking around with sunglasses, and open shirts, and no shirts at all. beverly whistles at a group of sun-kissed men before they hit a pothole so hard their front tire isn't just flat, but the hubcap is dented. she apologizes to the men about her catcalling after they double back and help the two with changing their flat, and point them to a mechanic down the street. normally, richie ignores clunking noises for about a month until his dad comes to visit the apartment, and he'd fix up the car for him, but his dad wasn't here.

it's a small shop, smelling of oil and gas and smoke. the front desk clerk disappears behind the door to the actual shop to retrieve some help, and the sound of tools and banging stream through the cracked door. richie puts back on his stained tank top to look somewhat presentable and it instantly sticks to his sweaty chest. beverly's fishing for denim shorts in the backseat while richie tries to tidy up a bit, chucking everything in a dumpster nearby before the door is being pulled open again, then the desk clerk is walking in with a handsome man coming out to greet them and survey the damage.

after a long and grueling time, he sighs. he wipes his brow with his forearm, leaning up from inspecting the tire for a breath of air. this doesn't sound good at all. "what's the damage, then, doc?" richie asks, removing his cowboy hat and placing it over his heart, bracing himself for the worst.

the man smiles at them, but frowns down at the car. "it'll probably be two or three days, since it's the weekend," he says, and beverly's bubblegum pops in despair. "you're lucky that you were able to change the tire when you did, though, or you'd be in worse shape than you are now."

richie groans, putting the hat back on and pulling it down over his frustrated face. they don't have two or three days. and they may have hit it big in vegas, but they didn't really want to spend their winnings on auto body work. richie's job would be calling any hour now, reminding him of how the week he asked off for is slowly coming to an end. and he still hasn't bought bill a pen from califorina yet!

the man's navy button down shirt's open just enough to see the white wife beater underneath, and he runs a greasy hand through his hair, leaving an oily smudge on his forehead- his name tag says eddie. eddie's eyes are blue like when it rains at sea, and they're staring right into richie's own. richie catches his breath, never noticing he ever lost it, and blinks, wondering when he started to drown in his eyes.

eddie's looking at him with sympathetic eyes, like he has pity on these poor, obvious tourists. then his gaze darts away, pink blushing creeping up on his golden skin that looks like it glistens in the sunlight. he bites the inside of his cheek, eyes still wondering, and it looks like he's contemplating something. he throws his dirty rag over his shoulder and excuses himself before going back inside, walking past beverly who's pretending to choose between a cherry air freshener or a black ice one.

"he's cute," she says over her shoulder at richie. he opens his mouth to say something, but wets his lips with his tongue instead. yeah, eddie is cute, and a lot more. he wasn't too sure just 'cute' is the thing kindling a fire in his chest, maybe adventure and excitement are adding fuel to the fire, too.

eddie comes back out, cautiously. he's standing in the doorway, like a treading cat. "where are you guys staying? nearby?" he asks, cleaning his stained hands on his rag.

beverly answers, "daisy avenue, in an airbnb," and someone from inside tosses eddie his car keys. he throws a hand up as a thank you and nods, then walks towards beverly and richie.

"i could drive you, if you want?" richie and beverly exchange looks quick before she shrugs, in a way that says, "what else are we suppose to do?". they collect their suitcases and nicknacks, then follow behind eddie towards his car.

♡

eddie drives fast, the car speeding down curves of the back roads that aren't full of traffic. richie drives fast, too, but this is different and thrilling, like a roller coaster. there's a suspenseful and exhilarating sensation, and nervous energy that fills a place just below his belly button, being in the passenger seat of this stranger's car. the wind bellows in and fresh, crisp air pushes richie's damp hair off of his forehead, giving him some cool relief, but threatening to knock off his hat.

"you always drive this fast, man?" richie asks, leaning over the divider to make sure he hears, voice muffled by the wind. eddie's eyes crinkle as he smiles, but he doesn't respond. he glares at the road harder, brows knitting together as he presses for the engine to roar louder, and beverly cheers and hollers in the backseat.

the car ducks under a canopy of palm trees, and the pale orange sunlight scatters over them, seeping through the gaps in the leaves and casting shapes on eddie's skin, half of his face lit up by the sunlight and half of it drowned out in the shadows. everything just must be prettier in califorina. shopping malls and billboards tower and cascade the sides of the roads. the dreamy, warm sights hang over richie's eyelids, everything is beautiful and clear, everything he experiences through his thick glasses is otherworldly, but his eyes keep darting to the driver next to him, their knees bumping whenever the turn is too sharp.

there are no golden mechanic chauffeurs in derry, maine. he gulps, and steadies himself by holding the handle on the roof of the car, but there's a smile on his face he can't seem to get rid of. it may be too soon to tell, but if califorina feels like this all the time, he doesn't want to get off the ride.

"hey, fast and furious," beverly begins, sitting up and placing her hands on both front seats. she's tied her hair up to stop it from flying everywhere. "can we stop for something to eat? i'm starving."

♡

they stop at a diner. beverly stays outside for a smoke and to check in with ben, while richie and eddie go inside. it looks like a well kept secret, the kind of places tourists want to find. they pass a jukebox entering, the artificial lights leave the place stained yellow, and they sit across from each other at the booth. their menus are double-sided, laminated, with coffee ring stains that haven’t been washed off. richie doesn't get too comfortable because he knows beverly's going to prefer the side against the wall, but the food arrives before she does, so he steals an onion ring off of her plate.

eddie nods and mouths a thank you to the waitress for his coffee before grabbing the mug from her hands, then starts to fill it with all the creamers and sugars provided on the table. richie sputters a laugh into his coca cola's straw, and eddie shots him a playful glare, tossing a crumpled sugar packet at richie that he easily manages to swat away.

"where are you from?" eddie asks, the corner of his mouth curling upwards into a smile that he hides around the rim of his mug as he takes a sip.

through a mouthful of brunch burger, richie manages to answer. eddie's eyes go wide as he nods, then sits down his mug. "my mom lives in derry."

richie nods too, popping a couple of fries into his mouth, the ones the egg yolk have dripped over. "so you'll come to visit?" he asks after he wipes his mouth on his forearm, the corners curling into a smile. he slides the plate towards eddie, motioning for him to eat something. "after you give us the grand tour of hollywood boulevard, right? you know the place inside and out, don't you, stud?"

eddie frowns, tossing the french fry he picked up back on the plate. "i'm not a tour guide." he's right. a tour guide would mean he does this for everyone who comes to califorina. what kind of person offers to drive you back to your airbnb, right after you meet? takes you for lunch? someone special, richie knows.

he knows as eddie leans forward to press his hand firmly to the side of richie's face, dabbing his cheek, then swiping the napkin across richie's lip. he's still high on anticipation when eddie pulls back, pausing and laughing, dismissing eddie's apology before he even spits it out. he adjusts his glasses while eddie retreats to his half of the booth. it's bright through the windows, lighting eddie's feathery brown hair up like he has a halo and highlighting the side of his face. "you had something on your cheek," he mumbles, going in for another sip of coffee.

his arms are crossed now, leaning back into his booth with a huff. richie leans back, too, poking around his plate with his unnecessary silverware.

"wish you were my tour guide," he says, mumbling. there are waves to watch from the shore, but he'll never know how strong the tide is until he dives; testing the waters.

richie turns to watch beverly through the window outside talk into her speakerphone, griping what's left of her cigarette with her red fingernails, but he can see eddie's high cheekbones turn pink in the corner of his eye, and the waves engulf him. she's cradling the phone in her shoulder now, waving to richie through the window before she blows goodbye kisses to ben through her cell.

"show me where paris hilton lives, eddie, come on." richie pleads, turning his attention back to him. he leans across the table, closer to eddie. "i'll give you fifty bucks,"

eddie throws the used napkin at him, chuckling and shaking his head, and richie feels a helpless echoing twinge of happiness in his own stomach, just from making him laugh. beverly's following the sound of laughter to their booth with a raised, curious brow, then pulls an unsuspected move and squeezes into eddie's booth instead of richie's.

"thanks for waiting for me, guys." she jokes, pulling her cold plate across the table. she gets a couple of bites of chocolate chip pancakes in her mouth before turning over and asking eddie, "is he bothering you?" richie clinks his fork against his teeth, anticipating the answer, eyeing eddie as well.

eddie shakes his head, not taking his eyes off of richie, but the menu he's hiding behind is low enough to see the clear blush across his cheek. "no, not at all."

♡

eddie speeds to where they're staying, arriving just at check in time. beverly's reading text messages from the host on how to open the dropbox if they aren't there, and richie's collecting their luggage from the trunk. eddie makes his way around the car to assist, but it seems richie's already has everything. he bends down, just slightly as he hauls beverly's backpack on his back, giving eddie the opportunity to place the cowboy hat upon his head. they just look at each other for a moment, a moment that’s all silent, the moment where the cart's suspended, paused at the top of the ride, and the drop is near. eddie smiles, a fondness in his crinkling eyes, the corner of his mouth turning, a dimple forming smile.

beverly comes over to help with the luggage, and announces she got the door open. she kisses eddie on the cheek with a hand on his shoulder as a thank you, thank you, thank you, we really appreciate everything you've done for us, before she skips back towards the house. richie shuts the trunk of eddie's car, tipping the hat towards him, toothpick from the diner still between his teeth.

"i need your number," eddie says quickly, gulping, "you know, for the paperwork? for your car? you can fill out everything else when you come in."

richie nods, standing up straight from leaning against the car hood. he swallows, then nods again. right, paperwork. but there's no paperwork or clipboard, just a pen in eddie's shirt pocket. there's an electric feeling as richie holds eddie's hand steady and scrawls the digits on his palm, and he sticks his tongue out just barely across his lips as he mutters each number while he writes. eddie's watching the pen work, head tilted, then blinks up at richie.

they connect eyes, connect hands, and there's a spark—not a gentle spark of static electricity but something more: a jolt, like the kind eddie probably feels at the mechanic shop, switching wires, sparking, heat radiating off batteries. maybe he's nervous the numbers will smudge or rub off from his hand on his steering wheel, maybe he'll wipe his sweaty palms on his jeans and realize only once he's back at the shop. richie looks up to see his eyes bright and eddie glances down when their eyes meet, pulling his hand away and releasing the pint up static energy between them.

"wait," richie says, pulling him back by the wrist, "not done yet." he starts to hurriedly scribble spirals and zigzags before eddie can realize he just didn't want to let go.

"okay, okay," eddie says with a breathy little laugh, pulling his arm away, and richie lets him. he steps back on the curb as he watches eddie head back to the driver seat.

"see you soon, richie."

♡

the house is dusty and dingy. the couches downstairs are wrapped in plastic, and all the furniture is floral print; probably some elderly couple hoping to cash in on the tourist traps near their neighborhood. beverly's already in the shower down the hall when richie comes marching upstairs, then collapses on the bed, leaving a trail of luggage in the doorway. the bed doesn't engulf him in pillowy softness, it's firm, and keeps its shape, keeping him afloat. there's an old fashion, wooden wardrobe cabinet on the other side of the room, and a beige armchair in the corner, covered in pink flowers. the dust hangs in the air, illuminated by the sun streaking through the cheap window blinds.

the scratchy sheets of the duvet are pushed down to the end of the bed now as he kicks his jeans off, sand stuck in the folds now, as he tossed and turned to get comfortable. he props his phone against the lamp on his bedside stand then lays back down. he can see his face peeking up from the crook of his arm, curly hair sprawled over the firm pillow with ruffled edges, waiting for bill to answer.

live video starts up and bills at home, red hair sticking up at all sorts of angles. there's a pen behind his ear, and his head is propped on the knee pulled to his chest. "how's cali-cuh-california, richie?"

"got your pen, man," richie says, not looking at the camera. it's the pen eddie left in his hand, with the shop's name in italic cursive. he's trying his best to balance it on his nose, lifting from the pillow ever so slightly and sticking his neck out to the side when it starts to lean. bill's been having writer's block lately, said maybe a new pen would help, and richie said, "why not a dozen?" there's a pen at the souvenir shop at the end of the pier, with the california state flag and gold and chrome metal accents, but richie thinks this one may be a lot better.

"audra's calling, man, i'll cuh-call you back," bill hangs up, and richie falls asleep right after.

♡

when richie blinks awake, the bedroom is honey colored, thin curtains blush pink in the sun. he groans, closing his eyes tight. it's not the darkness he wants, the darkness that allows extra hours of sleep; it's the kind of dark where he can still tell it’s daytime because the blackness is all soft and orange tinged, and the sunlight slanting in through the open bedroom window is warm on his face, on his bare legs. he frowns, hearing heels click against the hardwood floor from the bathroom across the hall to the bedroom door means beverly won't let him sleep, either. in the tangerine darkness, while his eyes are closed, he sees a dark silhouette towering over him.

"can i wear the cowboy hat today?" beverly asks in a voice sweet like overripe fruit, but he would've let her wear the hat anyways. he swats his hand in the air with his eyes still closed, finding the hat on the lampshade and tosses it to her. the mattress dips a little after, he can feel her hovering over him on all fours. he hears the rattling chain first, then feels crumpled receipts falling on his chest, along with cold, loose change; beverly emptying the contents of her purse to switch them to one that matches her outfit for the day.

he groans, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the balls of his hands. It’s darker now, with little shapes and swirls of color. he could wrap beverly up in his arms and toss her off the bed in one swift roll, but he’s too tired. too tired and incoherent to form a sentence and ask her to get off, and let him go back to sleep, forever, too tired to answer the buzzing phone on the nightstand.

beverly tosses the cold phone on his chest, and he blinks against the sunlight after she scurries off the bed. he’s able to make out a missed phone call notification from an unknown number, then a text message.

_you still want to see where paris hilton lives?_

he blinks again, waking himself up, and he laughs, he can’t help it.

“what’s so funny, tozier?” beverly manages to get out through her fresh lipstick, blotting and smacking her lips together in the full length mirror. she’s sitting with her legs crossed, drowning in her “i got lucky in vegas!” shirt as she does her make up, richie thinks it’s a good thing she’s already getting ready.

 _course i do_ , he texts back.

richie props himself up, running a hand through tangled curls. his phone vibrates in the other hand almost instantly.

_do you mind if i bring some friends?_

_no, you mind if i bring beverly?_

♡

“it was mike who really persuaded me to show you guys around.” eddie says, turning his head and jutting his chin at his friend, mike, behind him. beverly, mike, and stan are all eating soft serve ice cream, mike too busy licking the melting ice cream off the side of his cone to notice eddie look back.

the walk of fame goes on for blocks; the bronze star plaques, embedded in pink and charcoal terrazzo squares that glitter in the sunlight. there’s vendors and tour guides heckling, promising they can show the group where micheal jackson lived. richie slings an arm around eddie’s shoulder, yelling “i’ve got the best tour guide right here! ain’t that right, eds?” he half expects eddie to flinch away, shrug his arm off, remind him he’s not a tour guide. but instead, after raising an eyebrow at him, he puts an arm around richie’s waist, and they walk like that the rest of the way.

they stop every once in a while to snap polaroids on beverly’s camera; her squatting next to shania twain’s star, showing off her cowboy boots, stan, beverly, and their ice cream cones at britney spears’ star, mike and richie in his “mom and dad went to colorado and all i got was this stupid shirt!” t-shirt, winking and pointing at the camera next to kermit the frog’s star. eddie’s behind the camera, his brows knit together and forehead creasing as he’s focusing on getting the perfect shot, and taking care of beverly’s camera. watching eddie struggle with the camera makes richie laugh and form a genuine grin for the photo, then he jumps off the hot sidewalk to shake the picture to develop.

he’s still grinning when he says, “took long enough, eds, my ass was on fire down there.”

“i’ll take a torch to it myself if you keep calling me eds.” eddie shoots back, crunching into his own ice cream cone, smile only slightly smug, and maybe richie’s heart beats a little faster.

richie howls out a laugh, wrestling his arm around eddie’s shoulder again, lurching into his side. “can you wait until after we take a picture with paris hilton’s star?”

eddie murmurs softly, “yeah, okay,”

when richie lets go so they can navigate the through the sea of people and catch up to their friends, eddie takes richie’s hand instead of taking the opportunity to separate. he nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels eddie’s fingers slide through his own, palms touching, his grip tightening. his nerve endings light up, sudden and out of nowhere, his veins buzzing like electric waves. a laugh bubbles up in his throat and he grins again, letting the crowd press in all around him, move him like the tide pulls the moon. in a sea full of bodies, eddie’s a buoy.

♡

richie’s still looking at the polaroid picture when they end up at an arcade back near santa monica; richie’s legs stretched open so the star is in between them with a smile, eyes squinted under his glasses with eddie sitting cross legged next to him, head in his hands, pouting, wearing the cowboy hat.

beverly runs off to a giant claw machine, leaving richie hunching over an old game, his glasses slipping off his nose and reflecting the fuzzy neon graphics and pixel aliens. he wrinkles his nose once and then twice, failing to scoot his glasses back into place as best as he can without his hands.

mike leans against the machine with a light thud, at the exact same time richie’s spaceship is blown up. the scoreboard pops up, showing scrolling lines of scores and corresponding names.

“thanks a lot, mikey.” richie picks a cloud of cotton candy from his papercone, not looking away from the screen as he inputs his high score name as ASS, making himself laugh.

“would you hate me if i was sort of hoping for that to happen?” mike eats some of his own cotton candy, then digs around in his pockets to reveal two shiny tokens. “play me at air hockey.”

richie grins. “oh, you’re so on.”

once the tokens are inserted, mike hits the puck first, sending it straight to richie. he pushes it back swiftly, letting it ricochet against the side of the table. the two of them continue that back and forth without any progress, until mike finally manages to score a point in the split second in which richie isn’t able to draw his hand back quickly enough.

richie huffs, releasing his white knuckled grip from the table to push his hair back. he hastily grabs the puck from the container it fell into, tossing it back onto the table. he strikes it once, sending it directly into mike’s goal while he’s distracted, then he looks past the blinking point meter to see what has mike’s attention.

stan and eddie are playing one of those dancing rhythm games, with beverly cheering and pumping her free fist that’s not clutching her new stuffed animal. stan’s easy on his feet, coordinated enough to bounce around on the four buttons without even looking at them, while eddie was far less competent, missing most of the notes, but his concentrated expression breaks when he almost falls over his own feet, features relaxing and throwing his head back, laughing. it makes richie feel all fuzzy inside, and his lips curl into this lovesick smile.

the point meter makes a noise, and richie’s eyes widen, snapping out of it. he looks at mike, who has a smug, all knowing smile and a curious eyebrow raised.

“what’s up with you two?” mike asks, in almost a whisper, surprising richie again and allowing mike to score a free point. If he was still drinking his blue raspberry slushie, he would have choked. richie leans against the air hockey table, chewing his lip as he eyes mike, arms crossed with a smirk.

‘nothing’ is the first answer richie thinks about. then he thinks about how he doesn’t live here, and richie isn’t too sure if he can make a long distance relationship work. but he’s not even sure if eddie likes him, or if he likes eddie, but mike obviously knows something he doesn’t. and there’s the fact they just met, but that doesn’t seem to matter much when they lock eyes or touch hands. then for a split second, he wants to ask, ‘what’s it to you?’ but mike seems genuine, and all of richie’s thoughts spiral out of control like a rollercoaster on a loose track. he had everything planned when driving with beverly, falling for someone wasn’t part of it. now the ‘click, click, click’ of the cart on the track rings in his ears- the realization that yeah, maybe he does like eddie, and his stomach drops.

♡

beverly whisks them away before they could finish the game, or conversation, for photo strips. she fishes stray quarters and dollar bills from the bottom of her heart shaped purse, then hands them to eddie, who straightens them out on the side of the photo booth. richie and stan are sitting on the hard bench inside, barely any room for the both of them, wondering how the rest of them will fit. richie’s legs are too long-- one outside of the curtain, and the other pressed against stan’s thigh, which he apologies for. he rolls his eyes jokingly when mike scoots in, but he let him push him deeper inside the booth, elbow shoving into stan and pushing him against the wall.

beverly pulls back the curtain and surveys the scene, wondering how she can fit in the booth; mike’s board shoulders and richie’s long legs taking up most of the space. she ends up kneeling on the ground, stretching her neck to show up in the screen. the group calls for eddie, stretching their arms out and waving him to enter the booth with them. he rolls his eyes with a playful smile before trying his best to step over beverly, squeezing himself between mike and richie. the first flash left purple pulsing spots floating across their vision, and little time to arrange themselves before the countdown started again.

richie’s still rubbing his eyes when stan elbows him, “scoot over, rich,”

“there’s not much room over here,” mike says, leaning forward to speak to stan.

“switch spots with me?” beverly asks, looking up to richie and pulling his pants leg.

they fidget and shift in between seating placement and poses, the cowboy hat being passed around, their cheeks squishing together as they all fight to continue to fit in the booth, beverly’s laying across their laps at one point. when the old machine struggles and whirls, trying to print them out on low ink, and everyone’s passing and sharing strips, choosing which one’s they're going to keep; richie chooses the one where eddie’s sitting on his lap, to make space, of course.

♡

the rest of the day passes by in a dream. it feels heady and remote— distant, like when richie has a few drinks and his vision starts to blur around the edges, every word sounding slow and far away. there’s moonlight stealing slowly over the walls when beverly crawls into richie’s bed at night. it’s washing in through the window and bounces off the mirror, pooling pale light on the wooden floors. he feels her getting comfortable, shifting and snuggling into his side while he lays on his back. he moves his heavy eyelids for a peek under the arm covering his eyes, the sky is pale and tinted blue, peeking through black leaves.

“i know you’re awake, richie,” beverly says in a harsh whisper, nudging her skinny elbow into his side. he smiles softly but keeps his arm firmly rested over his eyes.

there’s a silent pause, with that sound when no sound is present. there’s no low broadcasting voice from a television left on, or bill clicking his pen anxiously as he searches for a synonym, or ben reading out loud because he understands better that way, not even a clock ticking somewhere in the house. just beverly and richie, and the buzzing silence in the room.

“should i propose to ben?” beverly asks softly.

“what? now?” richie asks, grinning now, still sleep in his voice.

“not now, you idiot.” she slaps him in the chest, but laughs something breathy. he has no idea what time it is, but it’s no surprise. maybe it’s a thought that’s always swimming in her head and finally bubbled up to the surface, here in california, here in blue darkness, in the darkness where everything is easier to imagine, or maybe that’s california, too. there’s a fuzzy, blurred around the edges picture in his head of his best friend in the most beautiful wedding dress, standing next to ben, who looks handsome in his tux. he feels happy, he can feel beverly looking at him, and he can feel her nervousness, rubbing off of him.

“of course you should ask him to marry you, bev,” he croaks, “before i do. he’s a catch.”

she laughs, her breath puffing out warm against his face. he finally opens his eyes, blinking slow and soft, and cranes his neck ever so slightly to the left to see her. her face is right in the square of moonlight, loose strands of hair glowing silver. they look at each other for a while, soft smiles on their faces, before beverly clears her throat.

“what’s the first thing you’re going to do when we’re back in derry, richie?”

“i don’t know.” he says simply without thinking. and that answer has never scared him before, but it’s starting to. beverly’s been planning a whole wedding silently in the back of her mind while visiting the hollywood walk of fame and santa monica, and he’s been gasping for air ever since he met eddie.

bevery says, “you better start planning,” before drifting off to sleep next to him, but it sounds a lot like, ‘learn how to swim’.

♡

mike and stan give them a lift back to the shop the next morning, and richie lets out a triumphant shout of joy when his car rolls out of the garage. it’s as the garage is decorated for him in balloons and streamers, how everyone cheered and clapped as eddie got out of the front seat in his smudged and stained overalls, smiling. “changed your oil, too.” he chirps, wiping his hands on the rag he throws over his shoulder. “it’s on me.”

“how am i ever going to repay you?” richie asks in his best distraught southern belle, damsel in distress voice, the back of his hand across his forehead for good effect.

“just get back to maine safe for me, yeah?” eddie half smiles, rubbing the back of his neck.

richie grins like he’s been waiting for this moment for a life time. “yeah, i’ll say hi to your mom for you.”

eddie sighs like he knew he set him up for the joke. the moment’s bittersweet, like when they first entered california. thoughts are swimming in richie’s head now, and he knows they’re stupid and useless, but that doesn’t stop them from swimming, droning out the menchical buzzing from the shop. he can’t ignore how he feels around eddie and wishes he can feel this way all the time, the fire he lit in his belly when they first met hasn’t died out.

all of richie’s words come spilling out in a rush. “well, we don’t have to leave so soon.” he grits his teeth in a smile, a part of him automatically regretting saying it, but the other part wants to learn how to swim.

and everyone cheers, mike patting richie’s back, but richie’s eyes are on eddie, handing him his keys back and licking his lips like he’s trying to keep himself from smiling.

“we should go to the beach,” stan says, smiling wide, clapping his hands together.

beverly squeals, grabbing stan’s arm, “that’s a great idea! we can go, can’t we, rich?”

and it’s like anything’s possible in california and eddie’s gray blue eyes, so he says “course we can.”

♡

later that night, they follow behind them in richie’s own car, beverly back in the passenger seat, her shirt says ‘some bunny in california loves me’. her arm hangs outside the window, and her hand sways in the air like the waves. they’re directed to the only beach not polluted by other tourists, and everything is cool and dark at this late hour, silent besides the coursing water, the tide rising and receding, and laughter and screaming. beverly runs as soon as her feet touch the hot sand still warm from the sun that set hours ago, dragging stan towards the cold ocean with her, and mike jogs after them. once richie gets closer, he can see the sky join the sea to make a whole blue horizon, broken by white foam that seems to glow in the moonlight.

they’ve only been here for two days, and beverly’s already getting married; the thought made him laugh. there’s a warm hand on his shoulder now, the sort of thing that makes fondness rise up in richie’s belly like a wave, warm and prickling. he turns around and there’s eddie, holding up a six pack of beer. “you mind carrying this for me?”

he carries it to where the others have already made a spot in the sand, but they end up smoking instead.

“this tastes different than normal pot,” beverly says thoughtfully, passing the joint over to mike and blowing out a cloud of smoke, all blue and hazy. mike laughs, taking a hit then offers stan the joint, placing it at his lips, holding it steady for him, and stan takes a hit, too. the tip glowing orange and the joint shrinking enough that stan’s lips brush mike’s fingertips where he’s still holding it, and it makes richie feel all weird inside, like he’s underwater.

it’s richie’s turn in the rotation, stan passes the joint to richie and he takes it. he places it between his lips and inhales, feeling all the smoke float down into his lungs, then float back up in a coughing fit, leaving his chest burning. “beverly’s right, this shit’s strong,” he manages to laugh. he can already feel his veins starting to buzz as he holds it up in the moonlight, inspecting it before taking another hit.

eddie reaches out and sets his hand on richie’s thigh. “let’s shotgun?” he asks slyly, and richie smothers another surprised cough. now the blood buzzing through his veins is like static, buzzing in his ears, so loud that it’s nothing but a swimming sound. he blinks, and tries to clear his throat, because he can feel his pulse there now. he laughs, but the sound comes out like a breath, and he can’t really bring himself to do anything more than that.

the tension eases a little when stan points the neck of his beer bottle towards them and says, “yeah, shotgun!” and mike elbows him, laughing. it’s almost strange, because it’s not like he’s known eddie for very long, but at the same time, it feels like he’s known him forever, and doesn’t know how he’ll survive without him in derry. the last thing he sees before he closes his eyes is eddie fluttering his own eyes shut. their lips brush, barely, and eddie takes what pours out of his mouth until richie’s lightheaded, spinning when they pull apart, and richie thought beverly captured all the good moments on her camera, but she doesn’t snap this one while she’s laughing.

everyone’s laughing and cheering when they pull apart and richie licks all over his mouth, the taste sticky and sweet. there’s cool air making goosebumps rise on his arms, and the moonlight’s all over eddie’s face.

♡

moonlight washes into eddie’s car, casting a silver shadow on everything. beverly gets sleepy when she smokes, so she’s laying in the back of richie’s car as he says a proper goodbye to everyone, leaning on the open window frame with his arms crossed as eddie puts the key in the ignition. he sticks his head through the window, leaning pass eddie just to see that annoyed look he’s come to love so much in the corner of his eye.

“i’ll miss you, mike,” he says, stretching his arm out wide and grabbing mike’s face in his hand, squishing his cheeks together. mike laughs and slaps his hand away from him.

“i’ll miss you, stan,” he says, stretching his arm towards the back seat, but stan scoots away, slapping his hand before he can grab his face too.

then there’s just eddie. richie opens his mouth to say something, but exhales a big breath instead, and runs a hand through his hair, slightly damp from all the misty sea salt air. he can feel the car’s heater on, and his stomach is warm, too, just looking at eddie; even though he’s cowdered back a bit, hoping he’s not the next one to have his face squished.

his mind’s swimming, but richie asks, “are you going to come visit sometimes?”

before eddie can answer, stan sits up from the back seat and asks, “are you going to kiss him or not?”

and richie laughs, because he’s high, and nervous, and relieved; he doesn’t know how he can handle the rest of his life if he left california feeling like this, feeling like he’s floating even though he’s got both feet on the ground. and eddie’s grinning, the blue is his eyes looking silver, like how the dim light of stars create shimmering reflections on water at this time of night.

eddie murmurs something that sounds a lot like, ‘fuck you, stan,’ but he places a hand on the back of richie’s neck, something that surprises him and makes those hairs stand up. he’s pulling richie down, so close that richie can feel the warmth from his stomach spill out and fill the space in between them, like a match that lights up the dark, like the glowing tip of a joint. and when he sees eddie swallow, he can’t help but move in a bit closer.

soft water sounds echo in richie’s ears as he moves his lips against eddie’s, and his breath hitches, shaky, like he’s breathing underwater. he’s going to remember this all while driving back to derry, maine, in flashes and fragments that trickle through his fingers like sand, then overwhelm him like an oncoming wave, and wash over him.

richie kisses him on the mouth, soft and chaste and closed mouth, but eddie pulls him deeper, and he knows how to swim. his breath is all sticky and sweet and tastes like weed, but he licks inside eddie’s mouth anyways before he hears surprised shouts to stop kissing in front of them, and mike pulls eddie away.

but eddie’s rainy sea eyes don’t look away from richie’s, and he grabs at richie’s shirt, pulling him closer, kissing bruising into his bottom lip. it’s like an ocean wave wracking through richie’s body, knocking him over, making it impossible for him to do anything but just kiss back.

“yeah,” eddie says slyly, blushing, while richie blinks hard, trying to regain himself, and richie grins, breathless and dizzy when eddie says, “i’ll come visit you.” cause it sounds like he means it.


End file.
